


Laundry Nights

by sterekhalinsk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Bed Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Car Sex, Come Sharing, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Laundry, Laundry Date, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sappy Derek Hale, Tongues, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterekhalinsk/pseuds/sterekhalinsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He raced across the washers, inserting quarters and pressing the begin buttons, sliding into his seat. He did this every week, landing in the same seat where he could watch his clothes and abuse the free wifi policy. And no one really sits there, in the back of Sally's Laundromat.</p><p>Except for today, where he finds himself hopping off a strangers lap, landing with a thud on the floor. Despite the painful throbbing of his ass - because hello, it had been one of /those/ weekends - he found himself feeling really embarrassed, "Shit, man, I'm so sorry." He rushed out, getting to his feet.</p><p>It didn't help his embarrassment that the man looked like he belonged in a damn porn magazine, with his dark black hair and stubble going all the way under his chin, and high cheekbones and the most amazing green eyes and body full of muscle. And then Stiles remembers that he's Stiles, a skinny twenty two year old who has failed in the department of obtaining muscle and facial hair as of yet. So he sits a seat away from the stranger, biting his lip as he stares at his hands on his lap.</p><p>"Don't worry about it." The man says, chuckling, and sweet lord if that voice isn't making the blood rush from Stiles' cheeks to somewhere else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Nights

_"Come on_ , that's not fair." Stiles groans into his phone, mouth scrunching up as he's bent over, throwing Kira's laundry into the washer.

He ignores Scotts reasoning, contemplating whether or not to put the water on really hot and the setting on what he likes to call 'it must really fucking hurt getting tossed like that.' He decides against it, his vengeance isn't worth Kira's yelling.

Stiles is the one who does the weekly laundry, no exception this week. Except, that its a roommate thing, shared sacredly between him and Scott. Because they're roommates . Its why Stiles cooks and Scott washes dishes, why Stiles sweeps and Scott mops, why they split the rent in half and buy bed sheets and furniture together like wusses. Because they're roommates.

And they'd been roommates since they started college two years back.

Stiles had gone through the same thing not too long ago, when Scott was in a (more or less than complicated) relationship with Allison. A black haired, adorably kind girl with one heck of a scary family. They met in a class that Stiles hadn't bothered to sign up for, and his price to pay for ditching Scott was washing Allison's spare clothes during the entirety of their relationship until they split for good and just moved on. Allison recently started dating a new guy around campus named Isaac Lahey, whom Stiles heard Scott mope about hours on end.

That is, before Scott met Kira. A Japanese descendant with the sweetest, most awkward personality imaginable. Stiles noticed, how the drawer under Scotts bed that was once filled with Allison's clothes (thrown out the window after a particularly ravenous argument) now began filling with Kira's distinct wardrobe. It was about time a third bag of laundry made its way into the mix of the clothes Stiles had do wash.

And while Scott had the glory of packing up his partners clothes in a bag for laundry day, Stiles was washing laundry, partner less. Throughout balancing schoolwork, his job at the local vets office not too far of campus, keeping his father healthy and his horrible management of Scott's issues, he never really got the opportunity to date.

Sure he had a thing for this red haired, no, strawberry blonde accordingly to Stiles' knowledge,  girl named Lydia. Who had her own troubles in paradise, being Allison's best friend and juggling 'the one that got away' with a hot twin named Aiden. And then there was Stiles' thing for a guy named Danny, who he honestly thought was out of his league despite Scott's reassuring words, considering he was going out with Aiden's equally hot, gay twin brother, Ethan. He's slept with a few people, on the nights Scott convinced him to ditch studying for partying at some strangers dorm room. He just, hasn't dated.

"Stiles. Hey, you there?" His memory mind processes, drifting back to the task at hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Still here." He says into his phone cradled between his neck and shoulder as he shoved the last of Kira's stuff in the dryer.

There was shuffling around on the other line, as he clicked on all the settings and moved to the machine to his side, throwing in Scott's belongings, "I told him you'd get upset but since you're already there, pretty please?" Kira asks, and he can just feelher clasped hands over the phone.

He moaned then, loudly. Loud enough that he was sure whoever was in the laundry mat at midnight on a Tuesday night could hear him, "But I don't wanna do your laundry. I love you and all, but just no. What if you were on your period or some shit and poor Stiles here will be scarred for life? I hope you can live with that, Kira."

Before she or Scott could respond, he pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, shoving it in his pocket. He wouldn't do it to Kira, but he most definitely wouldn't mind ruining one or two of Scott's favorite tees. Punching in the settings aggressively, he moved on to the glorious load that is his own. By the time he was done shoving everything in, adding detergent to each load and a little bleach in Scott's, there was this sense of glee as to what he was about to do. Making sure the washers doors were closed securely, he raced across the line of washers, inserting quarters and pressing the begin button before continuing to slide until he landed in a seat. He did this every week, landing in the same seat where he could watch his clothes and enjoy the free WiFi the most. Considering the router hung a few feet in front of him, wired next to the TV that was always on the food channel. So yeah, bonus. And no one really sits there, in the back of Sally's Laundromat.

Except for today, where he finds himself hopping off a strangers lap, landing with a thud on the floor. Despite the painful throbbing of his ass - because hello, it had been one of those weekends - he found himself feeling really embarrassed, "Shit, man, I'm so sorry." He rushed out, getting to his feet.

It didn't help his embarrassment that the man looked like he belonged in a damn porn magazine, with his dark black hair and stubble going all the way under his chin, and high cheekbones and the most amazing green eyes and body full of muscle. And then Stiles remembers that he's Stiles, a skinny twenty two year old who has failed in the department of obtaining muscle and facial hair as of yet. So he sits a seat away from the stranger, biting his lip as he stares at his hands on his lap.

He dares looking up at the man, who is smirking at him, and he's suddenly frustrated because he just just made an ass of himself and the man is sitting in his seat, his ass in hisseat. To add on to his embarrassment, the man probably saw him bent over, face first in the washers, arguing with Scott and Kira, and boy is he bothered, "I'm sorry." He says again, hoping his face isn't as red as he feels it is.

"Don't worry about it." The man says, chuckling, and sweet lord if his voice isn't making the blood rush from Stiles' cheeks to somewhere else.

Stiles nods, and realizes he's staring so he tries to watch his laundry, but of course he can't since its too far down the lane and there's someone sitting in his seat. Someone who's presence he's trying to ignore, so he turns his head to the TV and learns how to make baked potatoes in two lapsed minutes. Nothing much added but a bit of olive oil and salt so its healthy enough for him to make and invite his high blood pressured father to dinner. Even in college, he finds a way to keep up on his father, visiting once a week and inviting him over most days when he and Scott don't order pizza.

From the corner of his eye, he sees the man get up and walk over to one of the machines, and Stiles no longer minds that ass having occupied his seat because damn . Again, he's staring, so he tries his best to glue his eyes to the screen where they are stuffing the potatoes with shredded carrots. And he does, until he hears his name being called from a familiarly unfamiliar voice. His head snaps up at the man who sat in his seat, hand pointing at Stiles' finished loads. He gets up and stalks over to the machines, opening up Kira's first, because that's the one closest to the seat stealer, "How do you know my name?" He asks, throwing Kira's clothes in a bin.

"You said it on the phone, so I assumed." He said, throwing his  clothes in his own bin.

"You assumed correctly." He sys casually, smiling, making sure he doesn't leave anything behind before moving onto Scott's load.

"So, was that your girlfriend? On the phone, or something?" He asked nervously, and Stiles snaps up at that, bumping his head on the machine.

He mutters a profanity or two, holding the back of his head awkwardly and facing the man with a wince, "No, she's my best friend's girlfriend." He says, knowing it sounds weird but not bothering to explain.

"I'm not really into girls." He knows he's lying, saying that, but its all the explanation he'll offer.

"Me either." The man says quietly, and Stiles watches as he pulls a lacy red bra from the washer.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, nodding, because wow. The man catches his gaze and flushes, "They're my little sister, Cora's. I swear, she's in the car-"

Stiles laughs, nice and throaty because he's sure that's the truth, even though the man didn't need to offer it. They both stay comfortably silent after that, leaving their clothes to dry for ten minutes of sitting in the same seats. They fold their clothes in silence, sneaking less than subtle glances at each other and Stiles is pretty sure they accidentally swapped one of Cora and Kira's bras, but they say nothing, even as they leave the laundromat through the back, where the parking lot is. Stiles hops into his beat up jeep and watches through the rear view mirror as the man gets into a black Camaro. And true to his word, there's a girl with striking resemblance sitting in the passenger seat. They catch his gaze though the mirror and he shudders, pulling out of his parking spot and driving back to his apartment as fast as he can, legally.

_____

When he gets home, he wakes both Scott and Kira who are in a very compromising position, and tells them what had happened. Scott tells him to ignore it, but Stiles knows he's not going to. So when both Scott and Kira ask Tuesday afternoon why he hasn't gone to do the laundry Scott already sorted into bags (the only time Stiles is out and they ever really get to be alone), he says he'll go later because he's trying to finish up a paper. And its not entirely a lie, just not entirely the truth. And Kira bothers him about it later when he's done with his paper and is dumping pasta into a pot of boiling water.

"Okay, maybe I do want to see him again. So?" He grumbles, stirring the noodles around and hoping they soften soon so he can leave.

Its almost 11:45, and the drive to the Sally's isn't the shortest. "Stiles, whats the chance of you meeting him again?" She asks him, but something in his gut twinges with the feeling of him being right.

"Kira, whats the possibility of us not meeting again? I mean, I always go during the day and I've never met him before, but the one time I go during the night, bam, the dude is sitting there in my seat and I sit on top of him. Its a fifty-fifty chance I am taking because you have not witnessed the magic of those eyes. Or ass." He rambles out, watching as Kira tries to stifle a laugh.

She doesn't fail, and she takes the spoon out of Stiles' hand. He thinks briefly that she might hit him with it, "Go see your husband whos name you don't even know."

She pushes him out the kitchen and Stiles finds himself fantasizing about wakng up to the stranger every morning, "Hmmm, that'd be nice. I'll make sure to get his name today."

Its easy to sneak past Scott with the bags of laundry, because really, Scott wants him to go. So he drags them to his car, noticing that this week, Kira's bag is much emptier than the week before. Regardless, all three bags smell like sweat, so he makes a mental note to wash the bags as well. Today's slide down the lane to his seat will be one machine longer than it was last time and he wont mind. As long as the stranger isn't there to watch him.

But he wants the stranger to be there, so by the time he pulls into a parking space and shuts of his engine, he's decided that regardless of the stranger being or not being there, he'll do the whole slide thing. Because he wants to. Except, that when he glances to the other side of the parking lot while he grabs the rotting bags, he spots the black Camaro, and his palms get sweaty. That's what he wants, isn't it? To see him again? Yeah, he wants this. And judging by the fact that there's no one in the car this time, he's alone inside.

With change clanking in his pocket alongside his phone and keys, he hauls his stinky bags inside and goes straight to the back, where there's everlasting wifi and recipes to learn. The guy is bent over, shoving clothes into the washer and only pulls out to look at Stiles, who drops his bags to his feet. Stiles waves at him, then does the same thing, sorting the water temperatures and the settings. He notices the guy is sitting in his seat again, and he does the same run he did the last time, making sure not to sit on the stranger this time. This time, he sits next to him, a small smile on his face, "Hey."

The man smiles, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching up, "Hey."

Stiles decides then, he should ask, "So um... whats your name?"

"Shit, I never told you my name?" He says stupidly, staring at Stiles' ear.

But he doesn't say his name, and Stiles let's his eyebrows draw together in confusion, "Sorry. My name is Derek."

"Stilinski." Stiles replies awkwardly, hoping that the man would offer his surname.

For the record, he doesn't look like a Derek. It takes a moment for Derek to catch up to Stiles' thinking. And he's caught between questioning the name and saying his own, "Hale."

"Nice name." Stiles says, nodding, "I could've swore you were a Miguel, though."

Derek let's out a bark of laughter, leaning back in his seat, "I must say, you don't look like a Stiles Stilinski."

Stiles smiles at that, "Well technically I'm not," He continues when Derek's eyebrows knit together comically, "Stiles is my nickname, and for the life of me I don't think anyone but my mother knows how to pronounce my real name, so don't ask."

At that, Derek laughs again, and Stiles finds himself smiling, "But hey, Mr. Hale, what do you do... other than do your laundry every Tuesday?"

The question is phrased oddly, but Derek knows what he means, "Family business. Real estate and such."

"Ahh, that explains your closeness to your sister." Stiles says, nodding.

He loves the way Derek's cheeks become a rosy color, "Yeah, but you?"

Stiles understands, "College. Becoming a nice old friendly vet. And I work at an animal clinic not too far from here, with my best friend Scott."

"The one with the girlfriend?" Derek asks, referring to Kira.

Stiles chuckles, "The one and only. Me and Scott share an apartment, so yeah. We split everything in half, and his girlfriends in general are more work for the both of us. He makes me realize more and more everyday why I'm single-"

He's rambling on and the only thing that shuts him up is the feel of Dereks lips on his own, the warmth of his hand on his thigh, and the tingle running up his spine. When Derek pulls back, Stiles is breathless, panting, and resisting the urge to squirm in his seat, "Well, I believe that was unfair, Derek Hale. I'm a 'first kiss on the third date' kind of guy."

Regardless of his words, he's crawling onto Derek, straddling his hips and grinding down. Derek groans, pulling his chin in for another kiss. This time when they pull apart, they stare at each other, almost pressed together entirely. Then Stiles' phone starts ringing in his pocket, and he falls onto his ass, again.

This time the pain doesn't literally vibrate through his ass, but the embarrassment still floods his veins. Derek helps him up with a hand that Stiles thought would be far more rough, nodding at the machines in front of him. He declines Scott's call. Loads are done. But he can't see that, and not only because he has his back turned to them, "Hey, I just remembered, but you're sitting in my seat."

Considering they're both pulling clothes from their perspective washers, "Technically I'm not. And technically, its not your seat."

Stiles frowns, "Damn you and your brains. But you know what I mean. You obscure poor Stiles from free recipes, WiFi and the view of my clothes."

"And how do I do that?" Derek asks him, the corner of his mouth ticked up.

Stiles ignores him and sets the clothes to dry, then checks the constant buzzing of his phone. He sits down on Derek just to emphasize the fact that its his seat, and its a bonus when Derek groans behind him as he pushes himself up higher. And when he feels comfortable, Derek's groin poking into his butt cheek, he opens the steady stream of messages from Scott and Kira. He would've started reading if Scott's number didn't appear at the forefront of his phone. At this point he's worried, so he picks up with a tinge of sickness clawing at his stomas, "What's up, I'm still here at the mat."

Scott laughs humorlessly on the other line, "Yeah well pack it up, because we're taking a nice road trip to the hospital."

Scott is rambling on, and Stiles feels like laughing at the choice of words, but, "Scott, Scott, Scott, damn it, shut up! What the hell are you talking about?!"

He shuts up then, and Stiles stills in his seat. On Derek's lap, really. "Stiles, your dad is in the hospital."

At that, he shoots up and stops the dryers that the clothes are in, shoving them into the moist bags they came in, and he faintly registers Derek helping him. Bags over his shoulders, he runs over to his jeep and throws his bags in the back, where they flop onto each other. It is, of course today that the old truck decides to not turn on. The engine churns a horrible sound and then shuts off, and Stiles can't deal with this kind of shit right now. Not when his dad is twenty miles away in a stale hospital bed. So he gets out and kicks the door shut, and punches the window which doesn't break as he hopes it would. Theres a blaring horn and flashing lights to his right, and he turns around to then notice Derek there by his Camaro, dangling the keys, "Come on." He calls out, then promptly plops into the drivers seat.

The inside of Derek's car is much more comfortable than his own, Stiles realizes as they speed to the hospital. Derek has a soothing hand on his thigh, massaging it gently. He's so grateful and he can't express it. His phone starts to ring again, and he picks it up feverishly, "Hello?"

"He had a stroke a few hours ago, apparently. Not too bad now, but he almost died. His heart stopped for a good minute." Scott kept talking, but Stiles dazed out, staring at the trees that whooshed by.

Its a good fifteen minutes before they make it to the hospital, and during the whole ride, Stiles felt as if the only thing keeping him sane was the warmth of Derek's hand on his thigh. He misses it when Derek pulls away, because they are already at the entrance of the hospital. Stiles gets out but turns back to Derek, "Thank you. A lot." And he's stuck between letting Derek leave and telling him to join him.

He decides that it wouldn't be wise, despte the comfort that Derek offers, "Its no big deal. I'll get your car fixed up by next week."

Stiles stares with an open mouth, "No, its okay-"

"I hope your dad is okay." He says, a nice smirk on his face and Stiles' keys in his hand as he drives off.

Stiles stares at the car, then walks into the hospital, a dumb smile on his face as he asks the receptionist for his father's room number.

_____

The laundromat is twenty blocks away from his shared apartment at most. A five minute drive at most. A thirty minute walk at least. Stiles is shoving along a shopping cart stuffed with new laundry bags and detergent, considering the others were in his car, And he probably has double laundry to do, because the clothes didn't dry entirely the week prior, so they probably smell like rotten eggs sitting there in the backseats of his car. Scott is a few steps behind him in pajamas as well as himself, on the phone with Kira. Because its midnight and he doesn't want Stiles walking alone. Not because he has any intention to help with the laundry.

In the parking lot, Stiles sees his jeep parked in the same spot, and he doubts Derek for a second. But his car looks clean and then he sees the black Camaro across the parking lot, a smile plucking at his barely chapped lips. He pauses and waits until Scott is at his side to hand him the spare car keys, "Check if it works and bring the bags." He orders, then is pulling the shopping cart up the four steps into the building.

At the usual spot, he sees Derek sitting next to his sister. One in his seat and the other in his secondary seat. Damn it, "Sheesh, Derek, my seat."

Its meant jokingly, but Derek's ears redden, and Stiles bites in laughter. He smiles at Cora then extends a hand, "I'm Stiles."

She smiles and grips his hand firmly, "Cora."

He smiles at Derek, and turns around to do his laundry. Stiles looks up when he sees a shadow next to him, but its not Derek or Cora, "You're here."

With his phone pressed to his ear, Scott hands over Stiles' keys, "The engine is working fine. The dude frickin washed the bags and the like entire inside."

Stiles' eyebrows dart up, and he walks over to Derek who gazes up at him like a fluffy puppy, "Is there a problem?"

"No, yes. Derek, you're too nice. And you're a stranger that's nice. You could've driven me to Mexico last week and for the life of me I probably would've let you, because hmm Mexico-" Stiles doesn't realize Derek stood up while he rambled, or that they were almost pressed together.

He's only aware when Derek's lips are on his, fitting to his mouth perfectly. The kiss is feverish, a whole lot of tongue and gross saliva swapping. But when Derek pulls away, Stiles is glad to see that Derek is just as worked up as himself. He feels Derek's warm hands at his waist and his own hands laying gently on his shoulders, "Hey, um, so how's your dad?"

Stiles laughs then pulls away from Derek, cackling with tumbling steps, "Way to ruin the mood . But yeah, he's alright. Had a stroke but he's doing good in my guest bedroom suffering my healthy cooking."

" Our guest bedroom." Scott says, leaning on Stiles' shoulder.

"Scott, Derek. Derek, Scott." Stiles says, a bright smile on his face.

Scott eyes Cora weirdly, eyes darting between her and Derek, "I'm Cora, Derek's sister."

Scott smiles, and gets promptly elbowed in the ribs. Stiles doesn't miss Cora's questioning gaze either, "Roommates. And best friends since like trillions of years ago. We used to live in caves and walk around nude."

Derek cracks a smile, at least. Stiles notices when he and Cora finish their laundry. Stiles and Scott are nowhere near done. But while he's pulling his clothes out of the dryer to then fold them, Derek sides up to him, "Hey, would you like to hang out. I have to drop off Cora at her dorm building, but I'm free afterwards."

Stiles smiles, "Derek it is one in the morning on a Tuesday night, meaning I have school and work in a few hours... Yes."

"So I'm assuming I should help you fold?" Derek says, nodding at Scott.

Stiles glances at Scott for a moment, "I think Scott 'll be fine." Theres a mischievous glint in his eyes when he looks at Derek, a playful smile at his lips.

"Yeah, ha ,  no." Scott responded, chucking a pair of boxers at Stiles' head.

"Oh come on, Scott. Like I didn't wash the dishes yesterday. And you still owe me for letting you ditch me last Thursday for movies with Kira." Stiles says, then reaches out and thumps Scott on the head.

"What did -" "Scott you know what you did." There's a tone of finality in Stiles voice, and Scott resigns to fold the clothes and drive the beat up truck back home.

While Stiles and Derek walk into the parking lot, Stiles begins laughing, "What's so funny."

"I just spent my one ticket of good will from that man on you." The words tumble from his mouth and they should be offensive, but Derek laughs.

"What? Am I not a good purchase?" Stiles laughs at that as they climb into the car.

"Derek, listen to what you sound like." Cora chimes in from the back, and Stiles jumps in his seat.

But the three laugh, and by the time they drop off Cora, they are in hysterics. Cora has a wicked sense of humor that Stiles recognizes from Derek, just intensified. And it turns out that she and Stiles are in the same college, just taking different classes. He's never seen her around but he'll keep an eye out. When she gets out the car, she waves at them and they wave back before driving off.

"Hey, so where you taking me?" Stiles asks, this time putting his hand on Derek's thigh, inching higher and higher.

Derek swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down as Stiles' hand sunk into his jeans, "Dinner."

Stiles stills his hand to make sure Derek is paying attention, "I'm wearing pajamas."

Stiles slips his hand through Derek's boxers, and he nearly moans, "Fast food?"

Stiles shudders at how strained Derek's voice is, his hand circling around Derek's cock, "Home food?"

Derek nods, "Yeah, that works."

Stiles makes it his divine duty to torture Derek at every red light, drawing his nail up the underside of Derek's cock. He toys around with his head and he loves, absolutely loves the precum leaking from Derek, soaking his boxers. Stiles is distracted, lost in teasing Derek that he doesn't realize the car has stopped. Derek reclines his seat back, and Stiles climbs on top of him, straddling his waist and grinding down.

The sight is perhaps the best that Stiles has ever seen. The hottest man he's ever met in his life, under him and squirming with want. He leans down, his mouth latching onto Derek's neck to nip his way up to his jaw, to the corner of his mouth before kissing him. A heated kiss that leaves them panting, hot and bothered.

"Derek we should take this to your place before it ends here." Stiles mumbles, climbing into his seat.

"Sounds good." Derek responds, and they're stumbling out of the car.

In the elevator, away from the moonlight and into the buzzing florescent light, Stiles can see Derek's hard on. He's pretty sure Derek can see his hard on as well, and that the only reason why they they haven't pranced each other yet is the little girl in between them that steps off on the third floor. The second the door slides shut, Derek is on his neck, biting and sucking leisurely as Stiles bucks up into his hips, " _Please_ _."_

They break apart when there's a ding that signifies they have made it to the firfth floor without ripping each others clothes off. They keep a safe distance in the hallway until they're in the apartment. Where Derek gets him up against the door, pressed between his warm body and the cold wood. Derek's grip on his waist is intoxicating and bruising, adrenaline and pain flooding his senses. The teeth scraping against his neck send nerves though his whole body, they have him writhing and shaking, on the verge of begging. This is something different, something just, better.

Because he's never really been the type to be dominated. To have hands digging into his sides, or teeth scraping against the skin. To have godly stubble burning his neck in the best of ways that go straight to his dick.

So he let's Derek drag him into his bedroom, he let's himself be thrown onto the bed like a doll, which will only ever be hot when Derek does it, but he takes charge when Derek hovers over him and begins to pull up his tee shirt. He grabs Derek's hands and interlocks their fingers, rolling them over so Derek is sprawled out on his back. His pliancy goes so far, and when it comes to clothes removal, he'd prefer being the one doing the removing. For both parties.

He hooks his fingers under the hem of Derek's shirt and pulls it up slowly, nails scraping against Derek's pert nipples. He practically hums and leans up into the fleeting touch, and Stiles uses the movement to lift Derek's shirt off for good.

"So now you're feisty?" Derek's says, his voice deep. Stiles smirks, eyeing Derek's abs from above shamelessly, fingers tracing them until Derek squirms under the attention, grinding his hips up into Stiles who moans and grinds back.

"Derek, relax." He says, and leans down to capture Derek's lips in a kiss that's soft and welcoming. All the while he's unbuttoning Derek's jeans, pulling them down Derek's thighs and calves until he throws them aside and sinks to his knees between Derek's legs. With his hands pressed gently on Derek's hips, he licks a long path from his boxer brief covered balls to the tip of his dick. Slowly, steadily. Derek let's out a muffled groan as Stiles traces his balls with saliva, and Stiles feels them twitch and tense up with built up pleasure.

 _"_ _Stiles_ _,_ that _tongue_ _."_ Derek's thighs quiver, but he tortures him nonstop with his gentle kisses and lewd licks until he's sure Derek can't take it anymore. With a final suckle, he gets up, and Derek whines, but groans instead when Stiles pulls off his underwear and latches his mouth onto Derek's cock. He knows what he's doing, swirling his tongue around Derek's tip and pumping his shaft leisurely. There's no way he's inexperienced with the way he slithers his tongue up and down the vein under Derek's cock, or how he engulfs Derek's length in one go without gagging, or how he bobs his head up and down, knowing just when to hollow his cheeks. He feels Derek gripping his hair, moaning shamelessly into the air. He feels Derek's dick pulsing in his mouth, and Derek's breath shuddering is the only warning he gets before Derek's cum is being shot down his throat. He's swallows rope after rope, until Derek let's go of his hair and his groin has gone soft. Stiles pulls away with a soft suckle that has Derek whining from overstimulation. He smiles and stands up, wiping his chin before pulling his navy blue tee up and over his head, throwing it carelessly.

He hadn't realized Derek sat up, but he does when Derek's tongue is on his stomach and his hands are on his hips. All it takes is for Derek to nip a path down to his hips for him to notice (remember) his neglected cock. Its throbbing in his boxers but he denies himself the pleasure of slipping a hand down his pajamas. Pajamas that Derek is taking his sweet time to remove. When he does pull all the clothes off of Stiles body, he pulls him down so that they are pressed together in every way. Derek is still holding Stiles' hips when he grinds up, and they both let out needy sounds. Stiles slides his hand between their bodies, gripping Derek's soft cock.

He tugs on it a few times, pumping it roughly, and Derek leans into his ear, letting out a long whine. Over stimulation is a game Stiles has mastered. A game that he seriously enjoys playing too much. So he laughs, making his chest vibrate as Derek whimpers underneath him.

Derek tries for the life of him, he tries to flip them over, but he can't. He can't do anything with the way Stiles' tongue circles his nipple. His hand is pinching the other, and he's grinding their cocks together. Stiles sits up suddenly, mouth fallen open as he picks up the pace of grinding against Derek.

" _Fuck_ _,_ _fu_ _-fuck_ _."_ He moans, drawing his lip between his teeth.

Derek flips them over then, grinding against Stiles but finding his lips sloppily. Stiles let's Derek tongue fuck him, tastes his mouth with need. He pulls back with Stiles' lip between his own, suckling it be gently.

"Fuck, Stiles. I want to _hear_ _you_ _."_ He grumbles, climbing off of Stiles body, dragging his hands down to his hips and tugging him onto the edge. Stiles plants his feet firmly, moaning at the thought of Derek fucking him open with his tongue. And he does just that, licking around Stiles wanting hole before diving in.

He dips his tongue in Stiles' small pucker, his stubble lighting up Stiles' skin with need. He circles his tongue around the hole, lapping into just as Stiles yells his name. His hands are yanking at Derek's hair, but he doesn't seem to mind, too intent on swirling his tongue inside of Stiles.  
Derek reaches up blindly with two fingers, pinching Stiles nipple.

 _"_ _Eeeeesh_ _._ Don't do that again, not until your dick is inside o-" And then he has fingers in his mouth.

He suckles on them, groaning when Derek's tongue almost brushes against his prostate. Derek can feel the vibrations of Stiles' mewling, lapping into him harder, faster. He pulls his fingers from Stiles' mouth and shoves them in alongside his tongue. The action was rougher than needed, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind. Not with the way he's yelling Derek's name, white lines spluttering onto his happy trail. Derek slips his tongue out of Stiles, still fingering him while he keens, and laps at the dark little hairs on Stiles' stomach.

He's still panting Derek's name when he shoots a rope of come onto Derek's chin. And its the hottest shit he's ever seen; how Derek locks eyes with Stiles and gathers the come on one finger before sucking it clean. Stiles can't help himself but pull him up for a kiss, diving his tongue into Derek's mouth and tasting himself. It shouldn't turn him on as much as it does, it shouldn't make his cock feel the need the release again.

Derek climbs off of the bed, walking up to a random cabinet and looks for lube and condoms probably. And Stiles can't help himself but to follow him, sink to his knees, spread Derek's cheeks open and lap at his entrance. The man shave, a detail that rubs against his face uncomfortably but he doesn't care.

"Stiles. Fuck. That feels amazing." Derek grips onto the wall as he days the words, his thighs quivering and weak from his first orgasm, but Stiles doesn't stop working him open, lapping in and outside of Derek's ass. He goes as far as to biting his ass, drawing the soft flesh in between his teeth.

Derek would beg, yell at Stiles to just shove his dick inside already but the fact remains that he is dying to find out what it'd feel like to be fully inside him, fucking him into the bed, the wall. Hell, the roof even. So he turns his body around with the lube and condom in his hands and lifts Stiles up from the ground by his forearms. Derek attacks his lips with his own, backing him up until they thump onto the bed, smiling.

Stiles rolls the condom down to Derek's base, giving lazy lube covered pumps as Derek looms over him. Stiles pulls Derek's neck down until their faces are an inch apart, "Derek, you listening to me?"

He nods weakly, staring at Stiles lips as he spreads some more lube onto himself, "I want you to fuck me _hard_ _._ I want you to make me scream, and I want to come without being touched. Okay?"

Derek nods again, and Stiles wraps his legs around Derek's waist, pulling him in until he feels the head of Derek's cock at his hole. And he just might scream at the way Derek slaps his cock around, teasing his hole with the head. He reaches in between them, positioning Derek at his entrance and pulls him in forcefully with his legs. They both moan, the wet slap of Derek's hips against Stiles' ass echoing the room.

And then Derek actually moves, actually pulls back and slams back in and Stiles whimpers out a quiet _oh_ _fuck_ because **Oh** **Fuck** **.** Stiles lifts his hips off the bed to meet Derek's thrusts, to stop himself from scooting up the bed two inches every time Derek buries himself in Stiles' ass to the hilt. And it feels amazing, because Derek is hitting his prostate dead on with every thrust. It feels so good that he almost forgets about Derek's hot breath on his neck as he sucks and nibbles as he pleases.

"Derek I'm so fucking close." He doesn't miss how Derek's breath shudders as he says the words.

He responds with a hoarse, "Turn over."

And as much as he hates how Derek's hips stop slapping his ass, he flips himself over, crying out as his dick rubs against the sheets. His dick is leaking steadily as Derek fucks him into the bed. Derek's body isn't over his back, just pulling Stiles back by his thighs and hips to meet his every thrust. His nipples begin to burn against the fabric of the bed, his dick soaking wet, Derek's hands pushing down the arch of his back, and its all too much but not enough. And then Derek slaps his ass, unexpected nerves tingling up his spine, and he's yelling out Derek's name again and again, ropes of come pooling onto the bed below him.

Then Derek slows down, leaning over Stiles and grinding into him. It feels amazing, even the feeling of his oversensitive cock rubbing into his own come, and the brightest idea comes to him, "Come on me. Come on my back. Fuck Derek, please."

And Derek groans, pulling out of Stiles to peel off the condom. Stiles hears the slick sound of Derek thrusting into his own hand, and he leans his ass up. Derek gets it, judging by the way he slides his dick between Stiles' cheeks. Two thrusts, and he's coming on Stiles. Some of it landing in between his shoulder blades. Stiles leaks one last rope onto the bed, and he's spent.

Derek falls to his side, pulling Stiles along with him, and that was all amazing. Stiles laughs, the sound quiet in the room, and Derek can't help the smile that creeps onto his face, "What's so funny?"

Stiles hums, "Hmmmm, not funny, just gross. I'm laying in my own come, and you're technically rubbing against your own. On a similar side note, I got come and lube all over your bed, which yeah, sorry."

Derek chuckles, "That gives me a reason to see you next Tuesday at the laundromat."

Stiles rolls over and laughs at that. He faces Derek with crinkly eyes, "You are like the most adorable cheesy shit ball alive. But dude that's gross; washing semen covered sheets a week late? Yeah, gross."

Derek rolls his eyes, hand draped over Stiles' waist, "Let's go get you washed up."

There's no hot sex in the shower, but mainly because they're both too lazy and tired to initiate it. So there's just tired and awkward rambling that ends at, "So would you like to go out? Hang out sometime?"

Stiles stops scrubbing his pit, arm still jabbed up in the air as he turns around, "Laundry date?"

Derek laughs, "I was thinking we clean the sheets tomorrow morning, then I take you out to a café me and Cora have been going to lately, and then we go watch a sappy movie and make fun of it. Then walk around this park by the theater, and then eat at some shmancy restaurant, and then I'll drive you home."

Stiles can't help the laugh that bubbles up his throat, "And I was thinking, you drop me off home in the morning, I'll go to my classes, then go cook for my dad who is finally going home. Then I'll go to work with Scott, text you every ten minutes, and when I get out, you pick me up and we'll have sex in your car. And I'm completely yours Thursday."

Derek smiles, "I forget that its technically already Wednesday."

Stiles yawns, patting Derek's chest before stepping out of the shower, "Yeah, its like three in the morning. Sex was amazing, by the way."

Derek doesn't stare at Stiles' ass or the bruises on his hips. Derek doesn't blush.

...

His dad didn't bitch like he'd expected him to. Just patted him on the back and threw a bag of his clothes into the back of the ol' Jeep. Stiles' drove him home with Scott in the back seat singing horribly just to please John, and then they drove off to Deaton's vet office. True to his word, Stiles bagged Derek's number in the morning and was texted him whenever he wasn't clipping a dogs nails or bringing in bags of cat chow through the back. One of those texts included the address of the clinic, and when Stiles clocked out and handed his keys to Scott outside, Derek was already parked, waving at Stiles and Scott.

And yeah, they did end up having fucking awesome car sex, almost caught by the good old Sheriff of town. And that... was funny. No tickets issued, just some minor (okay, really freaking major) threatening of Stiles' safety and happiness. And again, Derek didn't blush. But the midnight date went on. Starting at Sally's.

"But that's my seat. Like, my butt has been connected to that seat more than they've been connected to your dick." Stiles says a bit too loud.  
Though it is midnight, and they'd just had awesome car sex. It was passable, "My seat now. Perfect view of your ass when you bend over to get your clothes."

Stiles' face, does in fact, blush, "I'll be in the car."

When Derek comes out with a single sheet folded neatly in his arm, he grumbles some complaints as Stiles drives to the movie theaters. They sit through an hour and twenty five minutes of a crappy romance, laughing, laughing, laughing, and of course palming each others hard ons. Even through the park. And they skip the restaurant because literally sex in a sexy car wins over footsies under the table of some annoying restaurant. Every time.

"I'm hungry." Stiles says meekly, zippering up his pants.

Derek laughs, leaning over to kiss Stiles, "Drive through."

...

Stiles does see Cora in school, and he waves at her. She eats lunch with Stiles and Scott, who both torture her with the sex jokes. Stiles especially. Because he's banging her godly brother. That's a bonus.

And Stiles tells Derek such when he's sitting on Derek's lap Tuesday night in Sally's. Derek doesn't blush, "Why did you two meet, ever?"

"Because you are now my boyfriend, and I have a right to meet the family." Stiles smiles, and the mention of family doesn't sting either of them.

The conversation of family, lack of family thereof, went down. Sometime after Stiles took Derek's virginity. In a way. The back way. And maybe their relationship is moving too fast, but its not ending anytime soon and that's the important part.

"Who said you're my boyfriend?" Derek retorts, loosening his grip on Stiles' waist.

"You wouldn't." And then Stiles in on the floor. He wouldn't really mind ruining some of Derek's clothes while he's running around the laundromat. And of course, Scott, Kira and Cora help him.

**Author's Note:**

> Blehhhh, show some love even though I completely chopped the ending.


End file.
